


Oh Baby

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost





	Oh Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tatau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tatau/gifts).



“I don’t have anything,” he said, as she tugged him into the room. “We can’t.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Yes, but – I don’t know if I’m safe.”

“Nobody’s safe,” she snarled. “Didn’t today teach you that much? Besides,” she clenched her teeth and gritted the words out, “I don’t care.”

“I do,” he tried to say, but she mashed her face up against his. It was wet, and snotty, and her teeth were still locked, and it shouldn’t have been sexy at all.

“Fuck you, you bastard,” she said, “it should have been you.”

And yes, he had to give her that. It should have been him. Angrily, he kissed back, forcing his tongue against her teeth. She didn’t give way. For a moment she opened her teeth, but as his tongue swept in, she bit it.

“Damn,” he yelped, and pulled back, staring at her, horrified. His heart was beating in his chest, so hard, as hard as when – as hard as when –

_“Down, get down,” and his partner was pushing him out of the way, and there was a solid bang, and a thud, and then someone else’s blood all over his Armani…_

Yeah, if she wanted to bite him, that was fine. It really shoulda been him.

Her hands were tucked now into the back of his silk pants, and she was squeezing his butt hard. He knew there would be bruises. He groaned, and thunked his head against the wall, just above her head. He’d only meant to see her home, make sure she didn’t drink too much. He didn’t mean for this – but – There was only so much a man could take. He should be listening to what she needed, not what she said, he should be trying to talk her down from this crazy, jagged high, but –

 _‘Are you really gonna fuck my wife?’_ The not quite ghost in his head made another appearance, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

 _‘She’s not your wife anymore, Stanley.’_ Ray thought back. _‘She’s not even your widow. You guys got divorced. Just leave me the fuck alone.’_

“Fuck me already,” Stella was saying. Her voice was thick with tears.

 _I can’t fuck her,_ he thought. _I really – it’s wrong. It’s just wrong. She’ll hate me in the morning, she hates me now – God Almighty, I hate me. I can’t fuck her._

He could do something for her, bring her off maybe, but he really shouldn’t fuck her. No matter how hard he was, or dizzy with want.

“Let me –” He slid down to his knees, between her parted thighs, and moved his head toward her belly, started mouthing the soft round of it through the black silk dress.

“Pants,” she groaned, “off.”

He started to comply, but she shook her head. “My pants, stupid.”

Of course, of course. What was he thinking? He tugged with thumbs gone suddenly clumsy. They were flimsy things, scraps of black lace, knotted at the thigh – French knickers, no less – as though she had dressed for the occasion, as though she had gone to the funeral meaning to get laid.

Maybe she had.

Maybe _he_ had – but no. No, he reassured himself. If he had done, he’d have bought condoms. This – this wasn’t something he’d planned on. He just wasn’t that sleazy, right?

His head was right against her pubes now. He was surprised. She’d shaved them. There was a slight, buzzed ripple where they were growing back in. Blonde, of course. It was weird, disconcerting. He’d been with women who shaved down there before, and it always disturbed him, as though he was fucking some underage kid. He felt himself wilt a little, which was probably a good thing, but kept on working with his tongue, sliding his fingers inside. She was tight. Very tight. A little wet up there, but not as much as he’d have thought, from the way she was moaning. She was frustrated, pushing on his hands.

“Just fuck me already.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“It already does hurt. Why do you think I’m doing this?”

“I don’t have any fucking idea.” For a moment he thought she would get angry, shout maybe, but instead her eyes just got bigger, and bluer, and suddenly she was crying again. Fat silent tears that dripped off her chin and stained her silk blouse.

“Oh, Baby,” he said, and winced (nobody called anyone ‘baby,’ let alone a woman like Stella Kowalski.) “Don’t cry.”

She rocked against him, kissed his ear. “Fuck me, please, Ray, fuck me.”

And then, he suddenly knew exactly why she was doing it, and exactly why he had to go along.

Because, when she said _“fuck me Ray,”_ she wasn’t talking to him at all.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes.

“Not up against the wall.” He stroked her face. “I’ll take you to bed. We’ll do it right, okay? We’ll do it right.”

Blindly, she led the way to her bedroom. Blindly, she lay down on the bed.

At the top of the bed, stood Kowalski’s ghost.

 _‘Did you have to save me?’_ Ray asked it. _‘She wanted you. It was always you she loved.’_

 _‘Look after her,’_ the ghost replied. Then, stiffly, formally, he bent down and kissed her head.

“Ray,” she sighed.

Ray knelt back between her knees again, but this time he knew he was there to stay – for a few hours, or the night, perhaps.

Or however long she needed him.


End file.
